“Any name from those pretty lips,” began I, but she left me to finish my compliment to the outside of the door.
When we moored alongside the Quai, I renewed my thanks to the Dutch skipper, and offered to return him his coat. But he would not hear of it. Only, said he, if I was disposed to-morrow to lend a hand at unlading, he would consider the trouble of fishing me out of the North Sea sufficiently repaid. This I promised by all means to do; and glad to get free so easily, stepped ashore with the first to land.
As I passed the brig’s poop I thought I saw a face peep from the little cabin window, and after it a little hand wave. I put my own hand to my lips as a symbol both of secrecy and devotion, and taking advantage of the bustle attending on the arrival of a fresh craft, slipped out of the crowd into the street beyond.
Here, among the first, I met a priest, to whom I made obeisance.
“Holy father,” said I in French, “I beg you to direct me to the Convent of the Carmelite Nuns of this town, to which I have a message of importance from Ireland. I am a stranger here, and have but just landed.”
The priest eyed me suspiciously.
“The holy sisters receive no visitors but the clergy,” said he. “I will carry your letter.”
“Alas! I have no letter. My message is by word of mouth, and I am free to impart it to no one but to the lady superior. Does monseigneur suspect me of ill motives in seeking the convent?”
He liked to be called monseigneur; and looking me up and down, concluded the holy sisters had little to fear from me.
“The holy sisters live a mile or so beyond the city, before you come to Overschie, on the road to Delft. You will know the house by the high wall and the cross above the gate.”